A Coincidental Fairytale
Disclaimer: Bleach isn't mine, so characters and places really belong to Kubo Tite. Story is mine though. Well, sort of.
AN: Yes, I've written a TOTAL revamp. I've left the original up (I might take it down), but I'd really prefer that you don't read it unless you've already read it and for some obscure reason like it much better than this version. But please. Please, please, please don't otherwise. Really I've only kept it up, so I won't be accused of ripping someone off. But I'm serious when I say please don't read it. This story is actually going to be very different; the third chapter is like a complete turnaround. I mean, it embarrasses me!
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Prelude: Under Five Points of a Shooting Star
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Once upon a time, there was a strong, young, handsome knight who rode a white horse in order to save his beloved, a woman he had never met but was bound to fall wholly and completely for as soon as he saw her because she was stunning, smart, generous, kind, perfect in every way, and, of course, completely made for him. So in order to find this amazing beauty and achieve this epic love, he dashed off to her treacherous prison, battled all that was evil, swept her off her feet, and raced away into the sunset, their hair whipping in the breeze.
Well, he was supposed to anyway. A few mistakes were made along the way. For example, he rescued the wrong girl, hurt the wrong people, and abandoned the horse idea altogether. And while he committed a fair amount of heroic deeds, he wasn't really a hero or even that much of a success. But, somehow, his story concluded with a happy ending anyway even though the original script got nixed, chewed up, spit out, and all the chess pieces fell onto a checker board in a game that played a bit like Snakes and Ladders.
This is that story.
And it started not with a hero but with a debt.
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Ichigo Kurosaki, once upon a time, ran his free hand through his damp, orange hair, more wet than bright thanks to the rain, a sigh barely escaping his lips as his grip tightened around his blade. He knew a truth all too well, and he hated it.
The truth Ichigo knew was that when you were an honorable man with a debt, you were bound to repay it, and that binding constricted your heart, your mind, and your soul until you did. And Ichigo, for all his faults, was nothing if not an honorable man, and his heart was so knotted, his mind was so jumbled, and his soul was so repressed he could hardly breathe.
In, out. In, out. Was it really that hard? He wasn't a baby. He could do the most natural thing known to humankind.
"You really have no idea how much you owe me, Ichigo-chan," the man sitting against the wall laughed, his hat covering his eyes. Ichigo couldn't tell if they were closed and if his creditor was paying him any respect at all.
"Trust me, I know," he replied through gritted teeth. "I really know." The man's grin widened, and Ichigo felt that soon his teeth would gnash together so hard, they'd fall out.
"And by the way," Ichigo added as an afterthought, "it's Kurosaki. You've gotta stop with this 'Ichigo-chan' crap. It's insulting and condescending, and I feel like a total fool."
At these words, the man did not stand up but did turn to face his companion with a deliberately slow tilt of his head. Ichigo winced inwardly when he realized that the collector's sleepy eyes were open, and the smile was gone from his eerie face.
"Do I really?" the man asked Ichigo. "You should be glad I've let you keep your name, but you know, Ichigo-chan, I could assign you a number instead. You'd have nothing—no name, no heart, no mind, no soul—without me." A ghost of a grin passed over his face. "I thought I was being generous. You really should thank me."
The ins and outs were becoming harder to maintain.
"Thanks," Ichigo snapped, his words short in an attempt to restrain his rather uncontrollable temper. The man lowered his head again, clearly pleased. "I had no idea it was that bad."
"You know, Ichigo-chan, your task isn't that bad either." Ichigo shot the man before him the nastiest look he could muster, but since the man's eyes were hidden again, his message may not have been delivered. The creditor continued as if it had not. "I mean, you're a handsome, strong, young man—you were a knight before you lost everything, correct?—and, okay, so you've been sent on a mission to repay a debt that's consumed your life because it was your life—and many other lives—that I saved. But the mission? Why, it's to rescue a beautiful and charming young girl—a princess, actually—who's sure to fall in love with you as soon as she sees you, not to mention that you'll get your knightly occupation back and all your honor." His grin flashed pearly white teeth. "Can't you be more enthusiastic?"
"It's a pain in the ass," Ichigo snapped, "and I hate you. But you're right. I do owe you everything, and I should be grateful. I'd give you the whole damn world and you ask for some tiny girl."
"Relax, Ichigo-chan," the man sighed unhappily. "I just wanted you to be content. I was looking out for your well-being, you see? I know you'll do it; I know that even without honor, you're honorable. But in a situation that determines whether you're screwed for eternity, or, well, get to screw some sexy woman—"
"You're vile," Ichigo hissed under his breath.
"Well, I figured you'd rather do the latter," the man finished smoothly as if he hadn't heard the snide remark, as for all Ichigo knew, he probably hadn't.
"I'm not doing either," Ichigo growled. "But what I am doing is this: I'm bringing this troublesome princess back to her land. I'll make sure she's safe. And then after, I'll return and help my family rebuild which really is what I should be doing right now."
"And you'll restore your name and your honor?"
"And my heart and my mind and my soul."
The man clapped his hands together.
"That a boy!" he cheered. "I'm so proud of you! You'll be a smashing success."
"Whatever," Ichigo muttered and with a swift motion, he threw his blade over his shoulder and it fastened strongly against his back. He stared down the man determinedly although he knew even the most menacing face could not intimidate the resting figure. He wanted to walk out of that lousy room and back into the rain, but not even his pride could permit him from hesitantly asking a necessary question.
"Just tell me: what do I do? Where do I start?"
The man, to Ichigo's annoyance, stood up tall, taller than Ichigo anyway. The man clearly didn't notice his debtor's anger. He winked.
"Well, how about getting a horse? You might want to get used to, you know, riding things."
There was a silence. No ins. No outs.
"Oh, don't be so tense. Be charming. You're playing a prince after all, a gallant knight in shining armor. There's no need to scoff in the face of a little loving."
Later, Ichigo would thank life for its little miracles. It was a wonder he didn't suffocate right there.
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Tatsuki Arisawa still couldn't understand. It had been three days since the men in white had wrecked her village, destroyed the palace, and kidnapped her dearest friend—the best friend she could ever have had. Every day, she walked up the hill from her humble home to survey the remains of the castle, and every day she felt her eyes well up with tears. It was so unfair.
They could have gone to a different land, and the princess they could have chosen could have been snotty and rude and good riddance even if she left a good deal of property damage as consequence of her leave. Or they could have been after some poor soul in her town who was also secretly a princess but was raised as a commoner, and that would have been sad and terrible, but really, who would have cared? That girl could even have had a real destiny ahead of her, a glorious future that the small kingdom couldn't offer and could at least see the world before she met the untimely end commoners were sadly born for anyway.
But Orihime? Orihime Inoue? The princess, the regal child, the flower girl, the dignified royal, the kindest person and most beautiful soul all wrapped up in a small (though big-busted) package? Why did they have to choose her?
"They chose her because she's everything," a voice said from behind Tatsuki. She spun around although she knew its owner well.
"I didn't realize I'd spoken aloud."
"You're going crazy," the owner replied. "You need to stop coming here. Go back to town, and stay there. Get a life. You know as well as I do that we're simply unworthy of her, and she was bound to disappear eventually. She was too good for this world. She was too good for us."
Angrily, she walked over to the owner and placed a sturdy, intimidating hand (the only one that worked) on his shoulder. He did not remove it however, and even his eyes remained unfazed. Tatsuki felt her temper sky-rocket.
"Shut the hell up, Uryuu," she snarled. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"
"It's Ishida," he said pointedly.
"Okay, whatever, Ishida! You need to shut up! It's not okay that she's gone! She could be hurt! They could be abusing her, they could be treating her wrongly and beating her and doing God-knows-what to her, and then who gives a damn if she's got a worthy, special destiny if she's dead, or worse, damaged beyond repair?"
She saw a strange flicker in Ishida's face. He was not the type of man who complained about what many would call the rambling and paranoia of a woman since for one, he was prone to said ramblings himself and for another, Tatsuki was, well, more manly than he was. In fact, it seemed as if Ishida had already thought of every word Tatsuki had just said. And even though it seemed those exact sentiments had gripped Ishida before, his cold expression became downcast. Her ideas must have stung, and Tatsuki felt her own feelings soften. Although just a few days before, in happier times, she had objected to his attempts in courting (which he thought were subtle and she thought were transparent and which were completely lost on the object of his affections, so perhaps he had a point), she realized only now, now that Orihime and those happy times were gone, that he was a worthy suitor and a good match for the most important person in Tatsuki's world. He listened and he loved. He was good and kind.
"Do you really think they'd do that to her?" he asked, his dull tone betraying the fact that he knew the answer. "They wouldn't just capture her so that they could, well, torture her would they?" He shook his head in an attempt to convince himself. Clearly, he had done that before. "I can't believe that. I just can't."
"Then you're the one going crazy," Tatsuki said though she spoke it gently. "Who would have expected that from a strong, wise guy like you?"
"Outer strength matters so little," Ishida replied, "and wisdom is for fools."
"Well it's nice to have," Tatsuki rebuked, and suddenly, a thought struck her. Yes, Ishida was strong. He was the greatest archer in the land, and the king once claimed the young man was, in fact, the kingdom's most powerful warrior. He was the only one who managed to fight the men in white and leave the battlefield physically unscathed.
"You can save her," she breathed. "You're strong enough."
"You're strong, too," he shot back immediately. "Why don't you go save her?"
"Like I said," Tatsuki whispered, "you're enough. I'm not enough." She knew that he knew what she just spoke was true. She knew that he knew she would have already rushed off to save her best friend immediately had she not broken her arm and realized her weakness on the enemy's first blow, and indeed, despite her sagging body part, she had tried to make a boat but only collapsed against the shore. She tugged on his sleeve with her good hand. "Please, Ishida. Go save her. You're an honorable man. Why haven't you chased her yet?" She sounded desperate, but she didn't care. Ishida would not disrespect her for it. He was desperate too and utterly conflicted.
"I would be disobeying every order placed on me," he said quietly, "and I would be abandoning every person in the town who could use my strength. The princess would never forgive me for that, and I never could either." He shook his head and shut his eyes.
"You've thought about this."
"Of course, I have," Ishida snarled. And then, his anger was gone. "I've tried to convince myself they'd never do anything to her, but I've convinced myself in vain. I know the truth, and it kills me. But abandoning my country kills me, too." He shook his head again. "I just don't know."
I don't know.
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Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.
Ulquiorra Schiffer was not insane, but he could hear sounds that did not exist. Before, when he was alive, truly alive, he was known for seeing all and what he could not see was not real. But now, he figured, as a side-effect of being one of the undead, that which did not exist had decided to punish him for the truth he exposed during his life. Although he had tried so many times to ignore it, it persisted anyway, thumping repeatedly and steadily.
Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.
It was louder now.
"We're going to be back soon! Fucking finally!" a voice shouted, and Ulquiorra tried to go back to the sound in his head. Repetitive and vexing as it was, it was far more pleasant than most other noises in his daily routine. Unfortunately, considering his companions' voices, that was not an option. "We've been out at the goddamn sea for too many fucking days; those assholes controlling the ship should have rowed a bit goddamn faster! Let's go kill the bastards!"
There was a cheer among the majority of the crew, but as it subsided, Ulquiorra finally spoke, aggravated, though his tone did not show it.
"We could have been back a long time ago, Grimmjow," he said calmly, "if you had not been the one to delay our departure with your mindless killing." He looked around the crew. "Personally, I don't mind all the waiting, but I hope that next time, Grimmjow, you don't become so hypocritical."
There was a snicker among the ship, and the blue-haired one named Grimmjow silenced it with a glare.
"Blah, blah, blah, shut up, Ulquiorra! I worked my fucking ass off, and you're now scolding me for doing your goddamned dirty work!" He glowered furiously at the crew. "I captured your fucking princess! I ripped off the arm of that measly king and threw the weak queen to the ground! You owe me everything—Aizen-sama's gonna reward me even, and you know I don't say shit like that if I know it isn't true!"
"What Aizen-sama does doesn't really concern me," Ulquiorra said, resigning himself to the conversation although there was nothing less he'd rather do. "I just obey his orders and look for no rewards. But," he said as he caught Grimmjow's eye, "I know that he probably won't be pleased with her treatment. It's been horrendous. I can't believe you've locked her in a cellar."
"You could have left her in my room," a voice sneered. "I would have taken care of her."
"You're disgusting, Nnoitra."
"Oh what?" the long-faced man asked mockingly. "Do you care, Ulquiorra?"
"No," Ulquiorra replied impassively, "but Aizen-sama does." There was a hush among the crew, and the beating returned to Ulquiorra's head again. He closed his eyes, taking it in although it bothered him completely because he had no idea what it was or what it meant other than his own insanity and his insanity certainly didn't exist. When his eyes opened, he witnessed every member's face waiting for him to say something profound. Had he cared more, he would have scoffed. He did not say profound things; usually, they were more than useless and actually quite flaky.
"We'll be there in less than a day, and we should prepare," he said finally, annoyed at the expectant glances. He looked at Grimmjow. "If you want Aizen-sama's respect, you should tend to that woman. It would displease Aizen-sama to see his prize in rags."
There was a general grumbling throughout the ship and a nasty "Fuck you" from Grimmjow, but Ulquiorra didn't care. He was prepared with his report. He could still see everything, and no one could hear what he could hear. His powers were in tact, and his sanity was safe.
Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.
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Orihime Inoue could not open her mouth to groan, and she could barely open her eyes. She could see nothing but darkness. She could hear nothing more than muffled voices and thumping steps echoing across the deck. The air smelled of salt and dust and rats, and her long auburn hair cascaded over her shoulders onto the splintered wood she laid on. She was so cold, so very cold. She did not know how long she'd been there. She did not know how long it would be until she got out.
Suddenly and involuntarily, her bound body lurched across the ground, and the splintered wood scratched her face. The door above her opened, and starlight, brilliant starlight, poured in brightly, blocked by only a single silhouette.
"This…" she finally managed to whisper, her lips cracking. It was strange to hear her own voice again. However, the silhouette clearly didn't care about this small wonder.
"There you are princess," the voice announced. "Get the hell up, and I'll take those damn chains off. You need to look respectable for the shore."
The man—it was a man—walked on over and pulled her up.
"We're not going to some silly party like I'm sure you're used to," he said with a smirk that she could see in the shadows of his face. "Lucky bitch. You're about to be graced with the presence of Aizen-sama. Bet not even royalty like you has had such a treat, huh?"
Orihime could not understand what he was saying, but something in there reminded her of food—real food—which she had not seen in a long time. She had lived on scraps and putrid water.
"I hope it tastes nice," she murmured, and she knew it would not be long before she once again drifted off into unconsciousness.
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Rukia Kuchiki felt the salt sting her eyes, the wind tousle her hair and the waves splash lightly onto her hands. She shivered because the water was cold, but luckily the night had been relatively warm and the fresh sea breeze made her feel new. It was almost dawn, and as she glanced towards the east, she could see small beams of sun creeping out behind the mountain line.
She knew what she was doing, standing at the bow of boat and feeling the brunt of the sea, was stupid. If her brother was there, he would scold her for her foolishness: she'd cough for days and have a sore throat when she met Aizen-sama, she'd catch pneumonia and not be able to move for a week, she'd slip on the wet boat, fall off, and die. But Rukia didn't care; she had been given a gift, and she wanted to savor every instant of it.
The gift she had been given was respect. Finally—finally—after much begging, many rejections, and many more false hopes, Rukia had been assigned to an important mission that allowed her to leave—yes, leave—Soul Society. It was the first time she had ever left her native land and although Huceo Mundo was really only a day and night away by sea, for the first time in her life, Rukia felt beautifully free and unbound.
"You should be sleeping," said a warm voice with an equally warm hand now placed on her shoulder. "It's going to be a big day tomorrow, and you should be prepared."
Rukia turned towards Renji Abarai, her best friend since childhood. Her tall, red-haired companion had a huge smile on his face. Rukia's own smile in celebration of her freedom, however, had fallen off. Byakuya had told her not to display her emotions carelessly and although it was probably okay to show Renji (Renji of all people) what she felt, she wanted to follow her brother's teachings anyway. He was a wildly successful politician and a well respected man, and by emulating him, Rukia hoped to capture a fraction of his success. Renji noticed her joy, however. His eyes sparkled.
"You should be happy," he told her. "Hell, you should be thrilled. This is a big deal, Rukia. I'm, well, I'm proud of you."
"So much that you had to follow me here?"
"Hey, hey," Renji complained. "You said you were nervous, and I did this as a favor to your brother. I don't think he wanted you to be alone." Her friend ruffled her hair.
"You should be happy again like you were before I came out," he said after a moment's pause. "It would be worth the two-day trip to see you smile." Rukia allowed one—a real one—to slip back onto her face weakly. Renji's beam widened. "Good," he laughed. "Good. Tell me you'll miss me."
Rukia blushed furiously.
"I will say no such thing!" she stammered. "I'm not some pretty little girl. I'm a woman on a diplomatic mission!"
"Hey, hey," Renji said again, a smirk echoing on his face. "There's no shame in missing others. It shows that you care."
"There is weakness in admitting it," Rukia muttered, and her companion shook his head.
"You sound like your brother. He's a cold man."
"He's a great man."
"Yes, but you don't have to be cold to be great," Renji said gently. "Ukitake-san gave you this mission out of compassion, and, of course," he added as Rukia bristled, "belief and faith in your abilities. Byakuya-san wasn't assigned this mission. You were."
Rukia rolled her eyes and clenched her hands more tightly on the boat's railing.
"Fine," she admitted through gritted teeth, "I'm going to miss you." Renji clapped her on the shoulder with affection.
"That a girl," he said. He turned to look at her again although she was focused on the distant harbor. "We're almost there. When you get back, I have something important to tell you."
"What is it?" Rukia asked. Renji didn't joke around about important stuff. He had her full attention now, but instead of replying, he just snorted.
"Silly, it's a secret. That's why I said I'll tell you when you get back, and I will, and don't argue with me." He pointed ahead as she opened her mouth to rebuke. "Look," he said quickly, "there's Huceo Mundo.
Rukia's eyes widened at the glorious white palace, pristine and bright against the sands it laid on. The dark forests on darker mountains loomed in the distance, but the palace was illuminated by the sun which had finally made its way over the mountains. Rukia felt the warmth touch her cheeks. Perhaps she wouldn't get a cold after all.
The sun was unrelenting. She wasn't about to fail either.
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AN: Prelude is up! I've had a recent Bleach revival. I should be working on Against All Odds, but this story actually came first, so I owe my readers for this one more (so I say). Oh, by the way, you might notice that the only point of the shooting star not to have a passage told in his point of view is Ishida. That's because I really disrespected him in my last story, and I owe him something to make him more complex (or I might have accidentally written the entire passage from Tatsuki's POV and been too lazy to edit it…). Oh, yes. And there is magic in this story. It's a fairytale after all.
